


Like Double Cherry Pie

by spaceboyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Attempted Seduction, Banter, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, Football | Soccer Player Louis Tomlinson, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry is a Tease, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Liam is a Good Friend, Long-Term Relationship(s), Louis thinks he's going to hell, M/M, Married Couple, Older Louis, Strangers to Lovers, college student Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 17:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboyharry/pseuds/spaceboyharry
Summary: “You're a right tease, aren’t you?”Harry grinned, climbing his feet and dusting off his pants, walking over to the fence, He hung off of the gate, pulling off his sunglasses and winking, “I’m a certified little minx.”****************Or, the one where Harry is the son of Louis' neighbor and beat puberty with a fucking bat and is hell-bent on causing Louis a shit-ton of internal turmoil. He also may or may not be the sexual innuendo King. Liam Payne has to literally knock some sense into Louis at one point. All in all, it ends with a ring on their fourth finger and a lifetime of banter in front of them.





	1. I Smell Sex and Candy Here

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back, back again.

”Hullo?” I rasped into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock flashing 4:45 on the side table. “Louis, oh thank god. I’m in a bit of a situation.” “Miss Styles?” _Why the hell is Anne Styles calling me this early?_

“I’ve told you, Louis, call me Anne. But that’s beside the point, I need a favor. I’m supposed to be picking up my son from Heathrow in an hour and for some reason, my car won’t start. It just sputters and dies. Could you be a doll and see if you can get it to start, pretty please?”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll be there in just a minute.” I tried to keep this reluctance out of my voice.

I hung up and sighed, sliding some shoes on and a jacket, pajama pants doing nothing to keep the sharp wind at bay as I walked outside and across the driveway to the Styles’ home. “Louis, love, bless you,” Anne said when I ducked into the garage through the exterior door. She looked very nice for it still being dark outside, which made me look like a sewer rat in comparison.

“Let’s see what’s up under the hood.”

Anne played with her fingers nervously as I poked around and checked seals, swearing when my finger caught on a belt.

It took a few minutes, but I finally found the hose that was loose, fluid dripping from it and staining the piping below it black. “Here’s the issue, I just need to screw this back in and you should be good as new.”

Anne clapped and hopped in the driver’s side, turning the key. She cheered as the engine turned over, muffler popping to life.

“Bring it over to the shop later this week, Anne, and I’ll give it an actual once over and change the oil, it’s about time for that. On the house.”

“Thank you so much, Louis, why don't you come over for dinner tonight as my thanks. You can meet Harry, officially, as well.” “Oh, I don’t want to infringe on your time together-“ “Nonsense, you’re family too after living next door these past few years. It’s only fitting you come over.”

I love this woman. Ever since her husband left and took her son, it had been just her. I like to think that I kind of filled in as a family.

“I’ll come over at seven?”

“Perfect. I think you and Harry will get along swimmingly!” I waved her off as she left out, rinsing my hands at the sink in the corner of the garage, damn near washing my hands with windshield wiper fluid. I need to go back to bed.

**********  
The next time I woke up the light was filtering through my blinds, and I could hear Anne next door speaking loudly to someone, must be Harry. I haven't seen Harry for about two or three years, when he came to his see his mother for Christmas.

Anne and I weren’t as close then, just speaking acquaintances, so I didn’t get to meet Harry. I just saw him around the yard and when he came and went with Anne, around thirteen years old and as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as they come. You used to could hear him across the whole neighborhood, talking about his friends at home with his dad and about the newest copy of his favorite comic book.

I distinctly remember his horrible sense of fashion, especially the chinos and clunky purple shoes. Whoever told him that was a good outfit combination was a twit. He had the widest green eyes and chubbiest cheeks and was just an all-around adorable lad.

I heard the boot of the car shut through my opened window and Anne say something, an answer coming through in a deep, carrying voice. Squeaky little Harry must’ve hit puberty.

I got out of bed and shuffled over to the window, yawning and scratching at my three-day-old beard. I squinted against the brightness, then dropped my jaw. You could hear a pin drop in my room.

Scratch hitting puberty.

**Harry beat it to death with a fucking bat.**

He was standing by the passenger side of the car chewing on his fingernails, nodding along to something his mum was saying. His legs were wrapped in the tight black fabric of skinny jeans, and I swear to you they were a mile long each.

Draped off of his shoulders was a pinstripe button-down, halfway undone and showing the peeking of edges of a bloody tattoo. He was like fifteen, how did he have a bloody tattoo? It was entirely unfair how damn pretty he was.

“Oh, hey Louis!” I was drawn from my rather rude staring by Anne calling out to me and waving, blowing my creepy cover entirely.

I focused back in and saw Anne’s cheek-splitting grin, and Harry’s little smirk as well. I fought my blush and waved down to them, locking eyes with Harry. Anne called and reminded me about dinner, and that she was so thankful for my help this morning, but all of it just went one ear and out the other.

All I could focus on was the color of Harry’s lips, even from this distance, and how intensely his gaze matched mine. I snapped out of it enough to give a thumbs-up of confirmation for dinner, and then Anne was bustling towards the house and chattering away to Harry.

Harry gave me a little salute and followed after her, and I think I believe in God now because my next-door neighbor is an angel.

And I am going to Hell for the wank I am about to have.

  
**********

My initial plan to just wear sweatpants and a hoodie to dinner with Anne and her dorky baby of a son were now foiled thanks to her son being a mini Armani model.

I couldn't be upstaged by a teenager, I was a self-sufficient 25 year old for fuck's sake!

_Remember that, Lou. You’re 25. He’s 15. A prison is a dark place._

The threat of Big Joe in cell block D didn't stop me from making a damn good effort in my appearance, however. I even took the time to get a little volume in my hair instead of the flat fringe it usually fell into.

My white graphic tee and black blazer were a bit lackluster, but I bet that I could wear Beyonce’s 2017 Grammy goddess dress and I feel that Harry would outshine me in joggers.

Like the gentleman that I was, I had picked some flowers from the meager garden I had around my backyard pitch and made them up into a formidable bouquet for Anne. I even shook out the dirt.

I walked across the yard to Anne’s doorstep, pressing the buzzer and waiting to be let in. I had a key, I probably could have just let myself in, but that would have been rude.

Behind the door, I heard Anne’s muffled voice calling for Harry to get the door and _oh no. Goddammit, I should have used the key_.

The handle turned with a click and there he was, and my internal mantra shifted from _“don’t be creepy”_ to **_“you’re going to jail, you’re going to jail!!”_**

Harry had changed his top into a threadbare black sweater, practically see-through and falling off of his shoulder, a few rips around the collar. To top it all off, his shoulder-length curls were held back off of his face by a white scarf, dotted with kiwis.

I don’t look good in orange or black and white stripes. I simply cannot go to prison.

“You brought flowers! My mum loves flowers!” He took them from me and gave them a big sniff, smiling happily. He plucked one from the cluster and tucked it behind his ear; a big blue one. “I do too.”

He was so beautiful, I’m so fucked.

“Come on in, Mum is almost done with the food.” I awkwardly followed him into the kitchen, accepting a hug and a glass of wine from Anne. I guiltily noted that Harry wasn’t drinking, probably couldn’t even drink legally.

I’m such a creep.

Harry politely began helping his Mum with the food, laughing along and pitching in on our banter, all smiles and giggles like the cherub he was. He did everything his mum asked of him and talked amicably, not at all reclusive like my sister, who was around the same age, was.

Oh dear God, he’s the same age as my baby sister.

“I’ve got to run to the outdoor freezer for the ice cream for dessert, Harry, why don’t you and Lou get to know each other?” _Damn you, Anne. Damn you to Hell_.

“Ok Mum, yell if you need any help carrying it in!” Anne walked around the corner and Harry spun back around to me on his barstool, features a complete 360 from how they were when Anne was in the room.

Gone was the soft smile and crinkling eyes, and in their place was a bitten lip and raised eyebrows. “So, you gay?”

The blunt question made me sputter on my wine, and Harry’s pout turned into a little smirk. “Figured. No one who’s straight stares at my ass that much.”

“I-I didn’t st-stare, I-” “I know you were. Trust me, feel free to keep watching me, it doesn’t bother me one bit. What I wanna know is if you’re gonna do something about it?”

If this is what it feels like to be a deer in the headlights, I pray that the trucker runs me over.

“You boys ready to start supper?” Anne Styles, my saving grace.

Harry bounced and clapped, taking the ice cream from his mother and sitting it in the sink to thaw some.

Anne bent down to get something out of the oven and Harry winked at me, getting the silverware out of the drawer. _What kind of fantasy have I walked into?_

I made it through the entire main course without incident, as long as you don’t count me banging the shit out of my knee on the bottom of the table when Harry decided to drag his foot up the side of my leg, all while having a lovely conversation with his Mum about a new documentary he had watched.

I blamed it on a cramp in my leg from an improperly stretched muscle, which led to me talking about my main job, and then eventually my side job, and this opened a whole new playing field for Harry to make innuendos in disguise.

“So you’re a footballer for the Rovers? I bet you’re used to getting all hot and sweaty then?”

This led to Anne going off on a tangent about the unseasonably hot weather, and the tips of my ears turning pink. I nodded meekly and shoved some more Alfredo in my mouth, which was a bad idea looking back.

Because the next thing that came out of Harry’s mouth was “It must be hard, doing it for 90 minutes in 11 different positions.” He said it with such innocence, eyes wide and head tilted thoughtfully, but I could practically see the horns sprouting from behind the scarf in his hair.

After getting over nearly choking to death on extremely good pasta, I switched the conversation over to my second job, as the owner and only employee of a small mechanic shop I ran out of a leased building in town. How many innuendos could Harry possibly make out of that job?

A **lot**.

That’s how many.

“Do you service all rod and shaft needs?” “I bet you have the best tools in town.” “It’s a dirty, dirty job, innit?” My personal favorite came after Anne asked me what type of engine I specified in, and I told her motorcycles, and that I had one of my own I was fixing up at the moment.

Harry’s face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

I had .3 seconds to prepare myself before Harry was leaning onto his elbows and smiling softly, batting his eyelashes, “Can I take a ride on your Harley sometimes, Louis?”

I fought the blush creeping up my face and bit back my nervous laughter, eyes flickering over to Anne to gauge her expression. Surely she couldn't be ignorant of these innuendos.

“That sounds like fun, you two should definitely do that!” She said enthusiastically, getting up to grab the ice cream bucket.

She returned seconds later with the ice cream, some bowls, and then went back to grab the cherry cobbler off of the warming eye. While she did that, Harry grabbed the jar of fresh cherries from the fridge, sitting them down in front of him and sending me a little smirk.

Anne doled out the dessert and sat down, starting a mild conversation over the food. My attention, however, was on Harry. Specifically his eating habits concerning ice cream.

Each spoonful was received on a protruding, flattened tongue; and he regularly licked across the shining metal and made eye contact with me, making a show of it.

Then he broke out the cherries and all hell turned loose.

How he made eating a fruit into an obscene spectacle was beyond me. I just wanted to go home and have fifteen minutes of privacy before I spontaneously combusted. I don’t think I’m going to survive the extent of Harry’s visit.

As Harry tied another stem into a knot, I thought “WWLPD?”

Liam Payne would smack me across the back of the head and probably have a powerpoint presentation prepared on how shitty of an idea this was, getting involved with the underage-albeit apparently experienced-son of my sweet, unassuming neighbor.

But, Liam wasn’t there, and I was never good at making bright decisions for myself, so I locked eyes with Harry and licked off my own spoon. Two can play at this game.

*********  
I barely escaped that house with my life. After the ice cream spectacle, Anne had invited me to stay for a movie. Harry sat next to me on the couch with some popcorn, laughing at the funny parts and watching intently. Until his mother fell asleep in the recliner.

Then, out came the devil horns.

First, he scooted closer and closer until he was practically in my lap, nonchalantly eating popcorn and pretending like he was the angel his mother thinks he is.

After I refused to acknowledge that tactic, he flopped down with his head on the arm of the couch across from me, legs bent so that his toes were barely brushing my thigh. He sat the popcorn bowl down on the floor and dramatically stretched, showing off his toned stomach and a tiny tattoo, reading “Might as Well…” Fit Harry perfectly.

I fought the urge to blatantly stare and kept a steely gaze at the television, pretending to be captivated by the stupid American movie.

He held the stretch for a few more moments and theatrically huffed once he didn't get his way. His next attack was with his feet, which he worked under my leg and played it off like he was cold. I personally felt like my skin was on fire.

I was about five seconds away from doing something I would regret.

I could see it now. “Doncaster Native, Blue-Collar Businessman, and Rovers’ Defensive Midfielder Louis Tomlinson Arrested on Charges of Fornication with a Minor.” My reputation chewed up and shit out in one headline.

Finally, mercifully, the credits rolled. Anne sat up with a snort, yawning and turning off the TV. “My bad. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the two of you. You heading home now Lou?”

I took my chance and stood up, noticing Harry’s almost imperceptible frown. “Yes ma’am, I’ve got morning practice at eight. Thank you for dinner. Nice officially meeting you Harry.” Harry stood up as well and_-oh no he’s not-_ gave me a hug. A full-on, squeezing, burying his head in the crook of my neck, hug.

“Nice to see you again, Louis,” he practically purred, my name rolling off of his tongue in the best kind of way.

I detached myself from him and smiled forcefully, “You as well, Harry. Anne, thanks again, I’ll see you when you bring the car around to the shop on Thursday afternoon? I’ve got a game in Liverpool on Tuesday, so I’ll be coming back in late Wednesday.”

“Sounds like a plan, I have an appointment with a client here at home that afternoon about her upcoming wedding I’m catering, I’ll just send Harry around there with the car.”

_Damn you to hell, Anne Styles_.

“Sounds fabulous, I’ll be looking forward to it,” I said through gritted teeth, smile intact but fear in my eyes.

“Can’t wait,” Harry said, brushing his arm against mine as he headed for the stairs.

When Anne opened the door for me, as she told me farewell once again, I could barely focus on a word she said. Harry was standing at the bend in the stairs just before he would go out of sight, looking at me with a smirk. He blew a kiss to me, then wiggled his fingers, climbing the rest of the way up the stairs, most definitely exaggeratedly shaking his ass.

I am so fucked.

**********

When my alarm went off at 7:30, my eyes shot open and my breath heaved, fingers clutching the comforter in a vice grip. My unconscious brain was a pervert. Hell, my conscious brain was shaping up to be one as well. I closed my eyes and I could almost see the perfect vividness of my dream once again. Harry was long and lean spread out beneath me, curls splayed over my pillow and thick eyelashes brushing his cheekbones. It was so _good_. It was so **_bad_**.

I contemplated life in the cold shower, staring at the wall as I tried to erase the image of Harry on his knees that my mind had fabricated and pushed to the front of my priorities file. I hate myself so much.

I managed to escape my house and get onto the road with running into Harry, like any self-respecting teenager would be awake at 8 am whilst on Holiday. I know I wouldn’t have been up.

When I got to the practice pitch just outside of the stadium, Liam was sitting on the hood of his car by his parking spot, playing on his phone and waiting on me to come up. He gave me a hug and took my bag as we walked in, talking non-stop about the fact that his son could stand up on his own now.

“I’m going to hell,” I mumbled, and he paused, looking at me with furrowed brows. “You’re what?”

“Going to hell. Harry and his legs and his smile and I are going to hell.” I kicked at the dirt and looked at Liam, who was pointing at me with his mouth open.

“Harry? Harry Styles? Your sweet neighbor's little kid with the puffy vests and pokemon cards?” Liam asked, voice getting higher and higher pitched.

I nodded miserably, “Harry got hot and a got a fashion sense and I’m going to hell.”

Liam sighed, smacked me in the back of the head, and quickly thereafter rubbed the sore spot. “It can’t be that bad, no kid is that cute that fast. It’s been what, three years?”

**********

  
“Oh man, it’s that bad,” Liam said, looking at his phone while we got ready in the practice locker rooms. I was just fastening my shin guards.

“What’s that bad?”

“I’m on Harry’s Instagram dude, you are fucked.”

I threw my head back against the concrete wall, which was immediately regretted, but most likely deserved. “I know, he’s like a little Greek God.”

Liam nodded and kept scrolling, pausing and grinning after a moment. “Lou look at this.”

I was in the middle of a dramatic monologue, cursing about how I was going to become the prison’s bitch and how I was going to leave my house to a little old lady who wouldn’t be tempted by Harry and his tempestuous legs. “Look at what Liam, Evidence B in my court case?”

“You melodramatic hoe, look, you're not going to hell!”

The picture was from three months ago, a photo of Harry looking absolutely delicious, eyes glassy as he stared into the camera, dimples popping out as he smirked. He had a tiara on his head, and he was lighting a cigarette with a sparkler, and I was in need of another cold shower. The caption on the bottom read “Happy Nasty Nineteen to Me.”

**Nineteen**.

Harry is nineteen. He sure did peak late.

I’m not a pervert, I’m not going to hell.

“I’m not a pervert Liam!” I stood up and hugged Liam, kissing his forehead.

“Well, that’s good to know,” Nick said behind me, slowly putting on his shirt as he stared at Liam and me quizzically. I turned to see the entirety of the locker room’s occupants' attention on me. Awkward.

“Louis just get dressed, you can celebrate later,” Liam said, rolling his eyes and putting his phone in his cubby. I got dressed, this time with a pep in my step. I’m not going to hell.

*********

On the way home after practice with orders from the coach to work on my corner shots, I was damn near giddy. It was still kind of creepy that I was crushing on my neighbor’s kid, but that kid was an actual adult. It was only a six year age gap, made up for by the fact that Harry was very much legal.

As I pulled into my yard, there was still no sign of Harry. Anne’s car was gone, they may have gone out for the afternoon.

I went inside and got a bottle of Gatorade, lacing up my cleats and heading outside to my at-home pitch. It was half regulation size, but it was great for practicing shots and running drills by myself or with a friend or two. I dumped a heap of footballs on the ground and toed them into a line, biting my lip as I kicked them, one after the other, into each of the corners of the net. About every third one hit the metal pole and ricocheted off, making me groan. I was under strict instructions to do this until I could fifteen in a row. And the coach always finds out if we skimp out.

“I love a good show.”

I froze mid-kick, sending the ball skittering towards the hedgerow. Harry was leaned against the open gate separating our yards, wearing blue jean shorts, a white t-shirt with the sleeves cuffed, and his curls were held back with an American flag bandana today.

_What Fourth of July porno did he crawl out of?_

“Harry. Hi. I was just practicing for my match tomorrow, working on corner shots, what are you up to?”

Harry walked further into my yard, sitting down on the grass and making himself at home by the pitch, bare feet crossed. “Nothing much, mom went to a venue to prep for a wedding this weekend so I’m just chilling. Doing some Uni work, finishing up getting registered.”

“Oh, Uni. Are you going to University in London at your dad’s?”

“Nah, I’m going to the University of Sheffield for Studio Art, I’m moving in with my Mum for Uni, you can’t get rid of me that easy. Go back to your practicing, I’m just gonna lay here and get some sun. I love a man that knows how to handle a ball.”

Harry winked at me and leaned back on his elbows, putting a pair of Ray-Bans on. I hate this boy so much. Looks like I’ve got a new form of torture for the next four years, at least. Maybe I can put a bed at the car shop next to the lift, between the rolling tool carts.

I went back to kicking balls, putting a little more effort into getting them into the net. The faster I do my fifteen in a row, the faster I can get the hell inside to where I can shamefully wank in peace.

I paused and looked over at Harry, who was lying flat on his back now, arms stretched over his head and shirt rode up to show off his “might as well” tattoo.

“You’re older than I thought you were,” I said, grunting as I nailed the top left corner with the third ball in a row.

“I get that a lot. I was a scrawny, nerdy little thing when I was sixteen, that was the last time I was here. I discovered men and Gucci when I was seventeen, finally got out of the khakis and polos. Learned I had legs, learned how to suck a cock. Grew a lot, learned a lot.” Harry propped up on one elbow and picked at his lip with his fingers, crossing his legs at the ankles.

_Why, God, why was I wearing football shorts? It was not the time for a boner._

“You're a right tease, aren’t you?”

Harry grinned, climbing his feet and dusting off his pants, walking over to the fence, He hung off of the gate, pulling off his sunglasses and winking.

“I’m a certified little minx.” 


	2. Who's That Casting Devious Stares In My Direction?

“Congrats on your win, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Harry practically purred as he leaned against the fence between our homes, legs cross and ridiculous sun-hat on his head.

I took in a deep breath and turned around to face him, kicking the stand on my bike down. I refuse to admit that Harry calling me Mr. Tomlinson got to me, it definitely did not and my cock is just a traitorous bitch.

“Mr. Styles, a pleasure to see you, as always. Thank you, it was a good match.” Harry grinned and pushed away from the fence, strolling towards me at a leisurely pace, legs stretching for miles in the tight black fabric of his pants. His shirt was barely buttoned, the ragged fabric hanging artfully off of his shoulder, the tanned skin there aching to be marked.

“Not Mr. Styles,” he said, cocking his hip as he stood in front of me with a pout. “Reminds me of my dad.” Harry grinned and reached up, straightening the collar of my shirt. I swear I didn’t stop breathing while he did it. “I prefer Baby.”

*********

“Fuck baby.” My fingers twitched from where they were curled around the warm, tan skin of Harry’s hips, skin dimpled from where the tips of my finger dug in, nails leaving crescent moons to smile at in the morning. The hands braced on my chest left red hot trails on the taught skin.

Harry’s hair fell into his eyes and he lifted one hand to brush it behind his ear, lips drawn tight between his teeth as he ground down hard, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his honey skin. The collar of my footie jersey hung deliciously off of his broad shoulders, the red and white popping against his skin, a bold “**TOMLINSON**” embroidered across the back, marking Harry as mine.

His eyes were damn near glowing, tears gathered in the corner and long lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he moaned softly. His cherry-red lips were parted and his tongue peeked out, pink and wet. It was like bait on a hook.

I sat up and captured his lips with mine, my hand tangling in his hair and tugging just on the side of painful that made Harry fucking shudder. The kiss distracted him to where he slowed his sharp, deliberate bounces to slow, teasing grinds. His hand slowly slid from my chest to trace lightly over my throat, eventually wrapping delicately around the back of my neck.

I tugged his lip when I pulled away, a soft whine falling from his lips. “Tired baby?” I asked, running my fingers across his straining, quivering thighs, thumb brushing the tiger and tracing Brazil! He was downright pitiful as he whined, bottom lip poked out and eyes half-closed.

“Let me take care of you then, yeah? Been so good for me.”

Harry only gasped and grabbed my shoulder when I flipped him onto his back, his limbs immediately falling to the bed languidly, eyes blinking owlishly as his hair haloed around him in painfully cherubic waves.

“Beautiful baby,” I whispered, hand cupping his flushed cheek as I thrust into him slowly, his leg bent and hooked around the back of my knee. It was like watching art when Harry was in ecstasy. His face pinched tight with every harsh thrust and smoothed out when my hand gripped his cock, my wrist flicking in time with the rhythm of my hips.

“Lou,” he whispered, head thrashing fitfully against the wrinkled comforter. His heels dug into the backs of my calves and my jersey was hiked up to his chest, his butterfly-laden stomach having with every breath, the beautiful creature seconds from taking flight.

I could feel the heat building deep in my gut as I thrust harder and faster, the moans falling from Harry’s hips guiding our sensual symphony. The drag of my hand on his cock caused curses and prayers to fall from his lips, and his mouth fell open with the snap of my hips.

“Lou!” This time he shouted, eyes snapping open as he reached his crescendo, cocking spilling over my hand and body shuddering beneath mine. I chased his high with mine, falling into ecstasy as my name fell from Harry’s slackened lips.

I rolled next to him as we both gasped for breath, his body fitting against the contours of mine like a puzzle snapping into place.

“Pretty good for a grandpa,” Harry said with a grin, smiling eyes flicking up to meet my narrowed ones.

“You weren’t complaining when I was fucking you hard enough to make you scream.”   
“True. You’re more of a silver fox than a geriatric patient.”

“Thanks, baby. Love you too.” I said flatly. I rolled out of bed to my feet and groaned, arching my back to work the kinks out of it, much to Harry’s amusement.

“I ordered your walker, old man, it should be here by the end of the week,” Harry said, voice shaking with laughter.

“The only way I’m using a cane is on your ass for talking back!” I shouted from the bathroom, where I was wetting a rag with warm water, grinning at my appearance in the mirror. Five years later and the sex was still fucking earth-shattering.

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Harry asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows, laughing at the washrag that hit him square in the face.

“Did you know that even after all this time, I’m still terrified of your mother?” I asked, crawling back onto the bed to curl around Harry. “Louis. Darling. She only tried to kill you once, and you deserved it. How would you feel if you came home and your fit older neighbor was shagging your sweet, innocent son on the kitchen counter?”

I grimaced thinking of how hard that pocketbook had come into contact with the side of my head. It took three months and four bouquets of flowers to win Anne back over. “Sweet and innocent my ass. You asked me to come over to help you fix your wifi and somehow seduced me enough to get in my pants. If anything, Anne walked in on her sweet, innocent neighbor being lured into bed by her horn-dog of a child.”

Harry looked at me blankly, then nodded once, “fair enough.”

We laid in bed in silence for a while, Harry’s head rising and falling with the pace of my breaths and my hand tangled in his hair.

“We’ve been together for five years Lou. You’ll get tired of me soon enough,” Harry said, not flinching from his sprawled out position.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“It’s true. You’re going to want to find someone to grow even older with and to share your social security with. And I will have to go back to my harlot ways. I can make the cute and innocent college kid routine work for at least a few more years.”

“Harry we are quite literally married.”

“You’re not delivering the salt-and-pepper McSteamy vibes that I signed up for. Sorry babe.” Harry shrugged and looking up at me, expression neutral. I sighed and rolled on top of him, muffling his shriek of indignation with a kiss.

I squished his cheeks in my hands and grinned as the ridiculous sight it made, his eyes crossed and lips puckered. “You are so stupid. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

“Right back at you, Father Time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was the great SpaceBoyHarry Age Gap manifesto? Like it or no? Be honest, people!

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, I am here. I didn't drop off of a cliff or die or forget about Ao3, I just went to college. Don't do it, kids, it's a trap. Here's some fluffy and smutty Larry content as an apology.


End file.
